Noir et Blanc: A Collection of Stories
by Perennial Rhinitis
Summary: Discontinued. AU. Has the same characters from FMA, only that they have different names here. Constructive critique encouraged.
1. Blue Willow Tea Set

Noir et Blanc: A Collection of Stories

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, hmmm...

Author's Note: I haven't started with the _Full Version_ yet. Sorry. The characters may have different names, but if you read closely, you will notice that they resemble some characters from FMA. I wouldn't have posted this here otherwise.

* * *

_Blue Willow Tea Set_

"Have a seat, Mr. Hall."

"Thank you for your hospitality Mr. Black, but I'm afraid that won't be necessary."

"Come on, we won't take long. A little chat won't do you any harm; would it, Mr. Hall?"

"No, of course not, Mr. Black…I think I'll sit down and have a chat with you; but only for a little while. I really am in a hurry."

The sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor was heard, and then the rustling of fabric. The chair complained noisily as Mr. Hall put his weight on it. The other man casually crossed his legs and reached at the coffee table for his pipe.

The two men were in a private booth in a posh restaurant. The booth screamed of elegance, with its lavish window treatment, rare, antique furniture and highly polished wooden flooring. However, the two men did not notice any of these. They were too concerned about the meeting that was about to take place.

"Would you care for some tea?" Mr. Black offered, gesturing to a fine Blue Willow teapot and two matching tea cups. "It is the finest Earl Grey," he added as he lightly tapped his pipe.

"Yes, I think some refreshing tea would do just fine," said the other man as he took off his gloves and stuffed them inside his trouser pocket.

Mr. Hall lifted the teapot off its tray and poured some of the steaming brown liquid on a teacup. As Mr. Black continued to smoke with his pipe, he noticed that his companion's eyes were in a glassy grey colour. He assumed that the man was in deep thought. He watched in amusement as Mr. Hall's shaking hands nearly dropped the teapot and cursed as scalding tea met his skin.

"Why so jittery, Mr. Hall?" he asked. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in mild interest.

The man hastily returned the teapot on the tray and grabbed the filled tea cup with both hands. He sipped once, and then said:

"It is nothing to worry about, Mr. Black. I just have one of those seasonal chills, you know? Everybody gets those," his mellow voice laced with fear.

"Ah, yes of course," agreed Mr. Black. "Seasonal chills. What else could it be anyway?" he put his pipe down and straightened his posture. He pushed by a stray strand of hair that bore his name and brushed his coat of imaginary dust.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" asked Mr. Hall, setting his tea cup down, making a satisfying little chink as china met ebony. He wanted this to be over right away; he hated being with enigmatic men like Mr. Black.

"I just wanted your opinion about the incident last night," said Mr. Black in a voice so calm it was disturbing.

"W-what ha-happened?" stammered Mr. Hall, his bushy moustache quivering, even though both of them knew exactly what Mr. Black was talking about.

"If I were you, I wouldn't act so innocently," continued Mr. Black, his thin lips curling into a smirk. He slowly left the chaise lounge he was sitting at and stood up, placing a hand on his left hip.

"You know as well as I do that you were _involved_ in that conspiracy, Mr. Hall," Mr. Black's tone changed from calm to venomous. His eyes, Mr. Hall saw, were full of—fire? Anger, perhaps?

His panicking mind was screaming to him to get out of the booth and run away, but his feet were recalcitrant. It was as if he was standing on a pool of tar.

"I-I don't know what y-you're talking about!" shrieked a now fully terrified Mr. Hall. He was at his wit's end; he did not know anything else to say or do aside from denying, shrieking and panicking. He kicked at his chair, making it scrape loudly with the floor. His kicking was so violent that the chair tipped over and set the person sitting on it sprawling to the ground. Mr. Hall saw stars.

When the flashing stars finally subsided, Mr. Hall shook his head and looked up at the still smirking younger man looking down at him. Their eyes met. The last thing he saw was Mr. Black's emotionless, onyx eyes.

* * *

_**MORNING HERALD**_

**Obituary**

**John Harold Hall III**

_Passed away in the Grace of our Lord on _

_17__th__ November, 1910_

He is survived by his father **John Harold II**; brothers **Albert** and **Reuben**; sister **Marie Elisabeth**; sisters-in-law **Rosé** and **Anne** as well as nephews and nieces. They and other relatives request the pious readers to pray for the eternal repose of his soul.

His remains lie in state at the Chapel of St Cecilia

Upper Huntington Memorial Park, 1213 Huntington until

Sunday, 20th November, 1910.

* * *


	2. Noir et Blanc: The Condensed Version

_Noir et Blanc: The Condensed Version_

Walking in a tipsy manner just outside a first-rate bar was a man in his late twenties. He seemed to be holding a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label on one hand and a fedora on the other. The man was trying to put his fedora on his head but was unable to do so; he was too intoxicated. After the nth attempt, he finally gave up and with a mild curse, he tried to walk as steadily as he, in his inebriated state, could possibly do.

With piercing anthracite eyes, he glanced at the street signs, as if looking for a particular street. He did this for two blocks until he stopped in front of a phone booth. He stood there, tipping a bit because of his drunkenness, and had a hazy mental debate on something. After a while, he shook his head and walked past the booth.

_I guess White wouldn't mind if I go on a sleep-over at her house on such short notice_, he mumbled with quick resolve as he threw the now three-fourths empty bottle of Johnnie Walker on a nearby trash bin. Though he does not really like asking favors from other people, he was sure that he his journey home would take him until morning and his body needed a place to rest. And his friend and colleague White was the nearest one from the Tavern, the first-rate bar where he was kicked out for practically assaulting the bartender.

His thoughts began to wander to the series of events that had occurred before tonight as he walked. It all started last week; when he found out about the news of the death of Isaiah Jones, his best friend. He investigated on the cause of his demise and made a shocking discovery: all the clues led to a John Hall, a wealthy tea merchant with numerous connections. Predictably, he wanted to avenge his friend's death, and he finally got to arrange a meeting with Mr Hall yesterday. He planned to kill Mr Hall using the stiletto he kept inside his coat pocket at that time, but it seemed that Mr Hall was poisoned; his plan to kill the merchant himself a failed one. Moreover, since he was the last person who was with the merchant, the police placed him as one of the suspects. After much interrogation by the police, they did not find anything against him and thus he narrowly escaped life imprisonment. He was finally permitted by the interrogators to go home about four hours ago but he headed straight for the Tavern, disobeying the police's orders.

The young man sighed and brushed the thoughts away from his mind.

"I'm just too drunk," he told himself.

He continued his solitary procession until Sleep finally took over him; at only a few steps from the entrance to Huntington Suites, he yielded to an alcohol-induced sleep with the cobblestones and the sidewalk as pillows and cot respectively.

He had been sleeping soundly for a few minutes when he felt someone shake his shoulder. He tried to shrug the shaking off, but his attempts to do so only made the shaking more persistent.

"Get off me; I'm trying to catch some sleep," he said, annoyed.

"Honestly sir, you'll catch your death of cold here. You can't sleep on the sidewalk," a firm female voice said.

Upon hearing the voice, the young man sat up straight and dazedly looked at his surroundings. After a few squinting here and there, his gaze landed on a familiar-looking woman. Even through he was practically seeing double because of the scotch, Elizabeth White's blond hair and amber eyes were unmistakably hers.

"_Sir_," White continued, though now more firmly. "You're sleeping in front of my apartment building."

While helping Black stand up, she said: "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

When she was answered by silence, the worried woman was about to throw him another question. But then, she noticed that he looked as if he had not been sleeping for weeks and thought the better about it. Instead, she wordlessly wrapped an arm round Black's waist, put his left arm upon her shoulders like a yoke, and dragged him inside the building. Fortunately, her suite was on the first floor and she was able to lug Black inside without much difficulty.

White's suite clearly revealed her spartan personality: the whole unit was spick-and-span, as if brand-new and everything was meticulously arranged to create a spacious effect. She then carefully laid Black on her couch, propped a throw pillow beneath his head and then went to her kitchen.

White visited her cupboard to get some peppermint drops and a small bottle of vitamins. She then went to the refrigerator to get a pitcher of water. On the way back to the drunkard, she took with her a water goblet.

"Wake up, sir. I don't want to clean the mess you're going to make tomorrow." she said as she laid the things on the coffee table and tapped his shoulder.

White was answered by a groan as Black sluggishly lifted himself from the couch.

"Thank you for your assistance, White, but I can take care of myself," he said, taking the pills and drinking a whole goblet of water in one gulp. He did not touch the peppermints she offered.

Raking a hand on his jet black hair and taking another gulp of water, he said: "You knew that I was coming here. Were you awake the whole night for me?"

White did not respond right away, she was busy toying with the vitamin bottle. Black noticed this and asked why.

"It's just like you to drink to oblivion. I figured that you will be going to the Tavern after the interrogation."

Black fell silent after her reply, feeling guilty. Her blunt answer quickly sobered him up and he felt ashamed already because of the stark truth in her short statement.

White looked up from the vitamin bottle and said in a voice laced with worry: "What you're doing to yourself isn't healthy, Christopher." Both stiffened at the mention of Black's first name. The woman sighed and continued, "Don't take all the blame. What has happened cannot be changed; killing William Jones' murderer will never bring him back to life."

Black's dark eyebrows furrowed at this and began in a quiet voice, "You don't know how—"

White put up a hand to stop him and shook her head.

"Don't even dare say that I don't know how you feel, Christopher Black," she said, suddenly angry. "_Everybody _else is also mourning for Will; how selfish of you to think that you are his only friend."

White was trembling with anger and grief; salty tears ready to cascade down her cheeks. The woman's grip on the small bottle began to tighten and her knuckles were gradually going white. Black became aware of this and gently pried the bottle from her fingers.

_What she said was right_, Black thought. He truly had been close-minded about practically everything since he found out about Will's death. He really had been drinking a lot of alcohol to escape from reality.

Having thought all this, he looked at White, who was now sobbing silently, and enveloped her in his arms into an embrace. He murmured an apology to her and partially buried his face against her thick tresses, taking in the faint smell of shampoo on them. The two stayed in this position, thinking about their departed friend.

White allowed Black to stay the night in her apartment, and gave him a pillow and a woolen blanket as he settled himself on her overstuffed couch. And, for the first time in weeks, Black slept soundly.

_Finis_


	3. Reminiscing

_Reminiscing_

"Do you remember that time when we went for a swim at that fishing hole?" he asked, pointing at a pond near the foot of the knoll where he was standing. From where he was standing, he could see the pool glistening like a sheet of lustrous silk as the rays of the setting sun hit its surface. 

"We both sneaked from our chores because it was just too darn hot to do anything useful. Lillian caught us and told on us. Boy, Mum gave me such a box on the ear!" he said, his voice filled with reminiscence. "Your mum gave you a healthy dose of beatings, am I right? Your screams were heard all the way to the dirt road!"

His face suddenly lit up to a grin and threw back his head. Then, he laughed uncontrollably until his sides hurt. As the dregs of his faux mirth finally subsided, he resumed staring blankly into space. The wind blew softly, making his dark hair ruffle and the blades of grass dance around him. Feeling a little cold, he wrapped his coat closer to him and slightly shivered.

"During Christmas, we would have a sleep-over at Elizabeth's house and stay up all night; we would try to catch Santa Claus while he puts treats on our stockings," he resumed talking, the drop in temperature causing him to remember this particular memory.

"We never did catch him though...such an elusive man, Santa Claus is, but you're sure that he'll always show up and put gifts under the Christmas tree. Everyone expects him to be always there, always present."

As his mind continued to wander, another person was climbing up the knoll. She was a short haired woman carrying a bundle of immaculate Madonna lilies with her. From where he was standing, he could see that her eyes were swollen and her nose had a tinge of red.

He gave the woman a small, sad smile and whispered to the air:

"Well, I guess I better give you and your 'beautiful and loving wife', as you always dub her, some private time. I'll come back tomorrow, don't you worry."

As he headed down, he passed by the grieving woman and greeted, "Condolences, Lillian."

She gave him a tearful smile and nodded in acknowledgment, saying: "Christopher Black."

The woman carefully placed the lilies in front of a headstone and stayed there, kneeling, as he began his journey home.


End file.
